


Bloody Severance

by smuttyandabsurd



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Historical, Historical Reenactment, M/M, Mild Gore, Smut, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/pseuds/smuttyandabsurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the victor confronts his enemy. Takes place right after Nazi Germany’s downfall in 1945.</p>
<p>Russia/Prussia. Angst. Bondage. Dubcon. Mild gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Severance

Gilbert could only glare from the floor at his captor as his hands hung useless, shackled above his head, the wall pressing cold and hard into his back. Ivan returned his sullen hatred with his usual blank smile. Dressed in an impeccable uniform, with stiff shoulder boards and all his decorations pinned to his chest, he exuded authority and bitter victory. He took off his hat as he knelt down to Gilbert’s level, careful to hold his red, unflinching gaze.

“Your boss is dead,” he said simply. “The war is over. You have lost.”

Gilbert remained silent. Ivan eyed the bruises on his face, flitting from the cut on the bridge of his nose, to the gash above his temple, crusted in dried blood, to his split and swollen lower lip. His forearm sported a makeshift bandage, blood still seeping through the fabric.

With a shift of his foot and a rustle of clothes, Ivan produced from his coat pocket a small canteen. The smell of alcohol rose to fill the room as he unscrewed the top. He offered it to Gilbert, pressing it to his lips, but Gilbert turned sharply from it. Without warning, Ivan wrenched his face forward. Gilbert looked in fury as Ivan took a swig from the canteen before locking their mouths together. He squeezed Gilbert’s jaw with a gloved hand, forcing his mouth to open. Gilbert gagged as vodka flooded into him and hit the back of his throat, and when Ivan pulled away, he began to splutter violently.

“You bastard!” he cursed in between coughs and choking gasps.

Unperturbed, Ivan tore at Gilbert’s blood-soaked sleeve and, ignoring his whimpering protests, undid the knotted bandage.

The wound was a messy gaping hole. Someone had dug out the bullet in haste and stemmed the bleeding with a rag. It was crude first aid, likely to have been conducted in the midst of battle. “A flesh wound,” Ivan murmured as he inspected it. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

From his breast pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief, shook it loose, and soaked it in alcohol. Gilbert winced as it was applied to his wound, hissing in pain as Ivan tied and tightened it into a new dressing.

“Who was the person who took out the bullet?”

It was an offhand question, but Gilbert physically stiffened at that. Surprised, Ivan hazarded with a slow-growing smile, “Was it your little brother?”

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he grounded savagely.

“You’re lying.”

A pause. Then, “If you ever lay a finger on Wes–”

“Ah, so it was your little brother!”

Gilbert’s mouth snapped shut.

“He is precious to you, yes?”

Gilbert looked away.

* * *

__“_ I see you have everything under control,” Ivan commended in a bright, admiring tone. “Why, my troop met hardly any resistance! This pleases my boss.”_

_Gilbert shrugged noncommittally. “We made a pact. As per our agreement, we leave you with half of the land.”_

_He stood from his chair and began clearing the table. Ivan seemed to be scrutinising him as he packed away his papers, and finally he said, “You have been very generous to us in dividing the land.”_

_Gilbert regarded him coolly, trying to discern any note of suspicion in that throwaway comment._

__“_ As long as you keep to your side of the bargain, we will continue to be generous.” Though carefully diplomatic, it was an impudent retort, but Ivan only continued to smile._

_When he extended a gloved hand, he saw Gilbert hesitate. In the end, Gilbert gave it a brief shake, dropped it hurriedly, and strode out of the room._

* * *

Ivan stroked the side of Gilbert’s face with the back of his fingers, careful to be gentle over the purpling bruises as he brushed aside a lock of blood- and dirt-matted hair. Gilbert’s jaw clenched, his facial muscles rippling as he jerked from his touch.

“How precious?” Ivan asked with a wide, sickly-sweet smile.

Gilbert, caught off guard by the question, only managed a startled, “What?”

“How precious is your little brother to you?” Ivan pressed.

Gilbert looked at Ivan, trying to penetrate into his thoughts, but all he could read was the same maddeningly vacant smile giving nothing away.

Seemingly satisfied by his silence, Ivan gently thumbed over Gilbert’s lips. He drew close and kissed the bruised corner of his mouth, and when he met no resistance, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and devouring his lips. Gilbert opened his mouth and accepted Ivan’s intrusion. Their teeth clicked clumsily together as Ivan pulled Gilbert into the kiss, pressing to him with need as he moaned in soft pleasure.

* * *

_He had been receiving intelligence of an impending German attack, but his boss had dismissed them all, convinced that they were all a conspiracy to sour their pact with Nazi Germany. No pre-emptive measures were taken. When the tanks rolled in and the fighter planes swooped into their territory, they were not even prepared to defend themselves._

_Ivan was not at the front line during the raid. He never witnessed the slaughter of his children. Instead, he received reports of the betrayal in Moscow, where he was powerless to strike back._

_He lost all of his closest associates in one fell swoop._

* * *

Roughly, he grabbed Gilbert by his hair and slammed him into the wall, inciting a grunt of pain. He breathed upon his pale, exposed neck, “You betrayed me!”

“I was never your ally!”

Ivan froze at the outburst, stunned. Gilbert swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared up at Ivan, his own breath whistling through his blood-clotted nose.

“But I believed you,” Ivan said quietly.

Gilbert let out a short, nasty laugh.

“Then you were a fool.”

* * *

_He had not meant to fraternise with the enemy. It was just difficult to avoid him, especially since they frequented the same pub on the divisive border drawn across Poland. At first, he ignored Ivan and drank alone. One evening, however, he felt in the mood for company._

_“So why do you drink in this shithole?” he said as a conversation starter, and none-too-quietly, at the pub owner’s indignation. He did have rather a bit to drink that night._

_Ivan smiled, and evasively he returned, “Why do you drink here, comrade?”_

_Gilbert blinked. “Hey, don’t give me that ‘comrade’ shit,” he sniffed, a little embarrassed, as he returned to his beer._

* * *

Ivan’s lips brushed against Gilbert’s pulse, breathing hot, roiling breath which caused Gilbert to tremble. Abruptly, he latched his mouth to him and suckled, teething and licking so as to raise a stinging mark that was both loving and possessive.

He smiled at the keening sound reverberating up Gilbert’s throat.

* * *

_Gilbert took one swallow of vodka and grimaced. “My God!” he exclaimed, feeling his chest constrict from the burn. He doubled over, gasping, in an attempt to alleviate the sensation._

_Ivan laughed as he took away the drink, patting Gilbert lightly on the back._

_“What do you think?” he asked mildly._

_Remembering an apt description from Elizaveta, Gilbert said, “Tastes like nail polish remover.”_

_“You know what nail polish remover tastes like?”_

_“Christ, Braginski, it tastes like what you’d expect nail polish remover to taste like!”_

* * *

Gilbert let out a cry before he could bite it back. His exposed chest tingled from the lingering kisses visited upon them, and now his body tautened at the feel of Ivan pressing his hand in between his legs.

“You’re hard,” Ivan accused softly.

Gilbert flushed. “L-let go!” he demanded on a shuddering breath, gasping as Ivan only tightened his grip.

“I think not,” Ivan said simply, his smile twisting into a grin.

* * *

 

_The raid was planned to launch this spring. Gilbert grew increasingly restless as the date approached, until one day he received a telegram from Ludwig._

**Trouble with Greece. Italy screwed up. Operation on halt until further notice.  
DO NOT GO INTO BATTLE ALONE.**

_Gilbert smiled as he perused the message. “You go save your boyfriend,” he murmured._

_He felt oddly relieved._

* * *

He could not stop the pleasured sighs tumbling unchecked from his lips. Ivan had cruelly teased him into submission, lapping at his beading tip and nipping the sides of his length to elicit from him low, frustrated, guttural growls. When he tried to thrust into Ivan, he felt gloved hands holding down his thighs, keeping him in place.

“Stop!” he begged brokenly on a hitching breath.

“Do you want me to take you?”

The question hung as Gilbert fought to salvage the last of his pride, which disintegrated as Ivan dragged his tongue along his length.

Afterwards, when Ivan pleaded for another kiss, Gilbert permitted it more easily. He could taste himself on Ivan lips.

* * *

_Ivan was about to leave, trusting that the front line was in no need of his personal command, when his children brought to him a German soldier who had crossed the border, babbling of an impending attack. Mistrustful of the information, he nevertheless did his duty and relayed the message to his boss._

_His boss ordered for the soldier’s execution._

_“I’m telling the truth!” the soldier screamed as he was dragged away. “The message comes from Hauptmann Weilschmidt! He wants you to kn–”_

_The soldier faltered as Ivan raised a gun to his head, thumbing back the hammer with decisive click._

_“Gilbert Weilschmidt would never betray me.”_

_He pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped through the air and lodged into flesh and bone. At point blank range, blood spattered over his clothes, his hand, and his face. The shot dispersed into silence, leaving behind a ringing in his ears._

_Mutely, he lowered the gun._

* * *

Gilbert arched his back, his legs spread to Ivan’s ministrations. He could feel Ivan’s calloused fingers rotating within him, those violet eyes darkened and fixed hollowly upon his contorted expression. He gritted his teeth from the pain; he hated himself for the pleasure.

“Don’t bite your lip!” Ivan said suddenly, and with his free hand he forced Gilbert’s mouth open, cramming in two gloved fingers. “Use this if you need to bite down.”

The leather had a musky, rubbery texture to it. Gingerly, Gilbert relaxed his bite and took the glove between his teeth, pulling it free from Ivan’s hand. Letting the article drop limply from his mouth, he nuzzled into Ivan’s naked palm, only just discovering the warmth of his skin.

* * *

_His boss was pacing the room like a great caged lion, his hands folded behind his back. “Why have you come?” he muttered._

_“Boss, please return to the Kremlin and lead us!”_

_When his boss paid not the slightest attention to his plea, he pressed, “I promise you, I will crush the enemy.”_

* * *

Gilbert took a sharp intake of breath as Ivan’s length filled him whole. The chains on his wrists clinked together, cutting into his skin as he scrabbled for purchase. He let out another breathless gasp as Ivan thrust into him, hard, piercing deep in a glorious stretch of flesh that was so much more than those fingers had been.

Ivan slowed, twitching bodily at the feel of Gilbert. He gripped a handful of Gilbert’s hair and drew their faces close together.

“Say my name,” he panted. “Please.”

Gilbert swallowed. “B-Braginski,” he ventured.

“Again,” Ivan whispered.

“Braginski.”

“Yes…”

He held tight to Gilbert and continued to thrust. With one hand he stroked Gilbert, coaxing him to harden once more. Gilbert could only let out helpless moans, his perspiring hands sliding against the metal restraints, unable to grip.

“Ivan…” he sighed.

Ivan watched as tears collected at the corners of his eyes, lips parted, trembling.

* * *

_The sky rumbled, grey clouds tumbling into one another, threatening to rain. Gilbert stumbled drunkenly out of the pub and Ivan followed, concerned._

_“You are not yourself today, comrade,” he said._

_Gilbert merely laughed. “Not myself?” he jeered._

_Suddenly, he turned around and gripped the front of Ivan’s coat, shoving into his face._

_“You say I am not myself,” he breathed. “Then what am I, really?”_

_A flash of lightning forked the sky, followed by crashing thunder. Rain began to spit, falling onto their bare faces, and it looked like tears on Gilbert’s, twisted as it was in a frightening, heartbreaking pain._

_Ivan carefully cupped his face in both his warm gloved hands, lowering himself to kiss him. Gilbert moved to accommodate him. They sighed, their breaths mingling, Gilbert giving way to real tears as the rain picked up._

_They kissed several times, deepening then releasing, and coming back for more, breathless, as they shared the hurt. The war effort did not matter in that moment. Neither did their enmity._

**Author's Note:**

> **The Treaty of Non-Aggression between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union**
> 
> The intercuts in the story in italics are flashbacks to the beginning of the Second World War, which officially began in 1939 with the blitzkrieg invasion of Poland by Nazi forces. Then, the Soviet Union was Nazi Germany’s ally. The two nations signed the Ribbentrop-Molotov pact (aka Nazi-Soviet pact) in 1939, which also illicitly stated they invade and divide Poland between them.
> 
> Even though the Nazis did most of the fighting in Poland, the Soviet Union ended up having the bigger half, on top of the pale settlement made up of the Baltic States, Belorussia (Belarus) and the Ukraine.
> 
> However, Nazi Germany never intended to be content with just a half of Poland. They coveted the Soviet’s possessions on the western front, and even Russia’s own vast lands. Also, far-right Nazism could never abide by far-left Communism; the Nazis signed the pact with every intention of violating it in the future. Operation Barbarossa, launched in the early summer of 1941, went down as the bloodiest divorce in history.
> 
> **Betrayal: Operation Barbarossa**
> 
> Operation Barbarossa was planned since the summer of 1940, and was initially meant to launch in the spring of 1941. It was delayed to the summer of 1941, however, because the Nazis were preoccupied helping their Italian ally. Italy tried to invade Greece, but the Greeks put up a bloody good fight and drove out the Italian troops, which necessitated a second punch from the Nazis who succeeded in occupying Greece. Only then did they turn to face the Soviet Union.
> 
> It was not difficult to foresee this betrayal. The British caught wind of the of the Operation when they broke the Nazis’ famed enigma code, and Churchill went so far as to warn Stalin that Hitler planned to stab him in the back. Stalin himself had spies in Nazi Germany who all told him of the plan, but incredibly he never believed any of the reports, dismissing them all as a conspiracy cooked up by the British and Americans to ‘worsen the relations between the USSR and Germany’.
> 
> Stalin was well-known for his pathological paranoia, not trusting even his closest party members. Yet ironically, the one person he put all of his trust into, Hitler, was the least trustworthy person in the whole of the twentieth century. For his blunder as ‘the most completely out-witted bungler of the whole Second World War’ – as Churchill very sympathetically put it – up to 3 million Russian men were captured by the autumn of 1941, all of whom were either executed on the spot or sent concentration camps. He also lost the Soviet Union the western front that was the Baltic States.
> 
> **The Lone Soldier**
> 
> The Nazi soldier who went to warn the Russians was real. He crossed over to the Soviet side on the eve of the Operation, but he was not believed and, under Stalin’s orders, was executed on the spot.
> 
> **The Ugly Side of War**
> 
> Gilbert in the last section of the story was meant to reflect the plunging morale of the Nazis’ eastern troops. It was not so bad in the west when they invaded France, because the French were deemed ‘Aryan enough’ to continue living. Invading the east, they had to sort the population of the invaded lands into ‘Aryan’ and ‘not Aryan’ groups, with everyone in the latter group executed along with the Jews. Executions were carried out by shooting each individual, before they came up with death camps. The slaughter took a toll on the soldiers, who were given vodka in the afternoon to ‘refresh’ themselves.
> 
> The Russians were not innocent of such crimes themselves. They crammed some of the population of their invaded lands into cattle trains bound for gulags in Siberia and Kazakhstan. Almost half of those on board died en route from starvation (they were neither fed nor watered), exposure to extreme weathers, and diseases.


End file.
